The Chicago Clan: Ch 2 Hard Place
by Cosmina Inspira
Summary: Dresden continues his investigation while the new clan tries to come together and relearn what the 'Gargoyle Way' truly means, making Athena feel the pressures of being a leader. They consider hiring Dresden as they investigate the intruders from the previous night, and it all leads to an unexpected encounter and misunderstanding.


The Chicago Clan

Chpt. 2: Hard Place

By Cosmic Inspiration

Disclaimer: The Gargoyles animated series, including The Goliath Chronicles, is the property of the Walt Disney Company and its affiliate Buena Vista Television Animation. The characters of the Dresden Files book series such as Harry Dresden, Karen Murphy, Mac, John Marcone, and Donald Morgan are the creation and property of author Jim Butcher. No infringement is intended here nor authorized by the copyholders; this author makes no profit off of these stories and only writes for fun and entertainment. All original characters are the property of the author Cosmic Inspiration.

Author's Note: The time these stories takes place for the Chicago Clan take place around 2004-2005, and in the Dresdanverse these events takes place before the book Blood Rights.

* * *

I sat there staring at Murphy as she read the report I had about what may have been responsible for the break in at Marcone's financial firm the other night, my foot slowly tapping away in boredom or anxiety, I don't know which at this point.

Being a cop for as long as she has, Murphy has an excellent poker face; at this point, unless I want to use some form of neuromancy, which is against the Seven Laws of Magic, I have no idea what she is thinking.

Lieutenant Karen Murphy is the leader of the Chicago PD's Special Investigations, and the toughest cop I know even though she doesn't look it. She looks more like someone's favorite aunt with her pretty wavy and sunny blonde hair, light corn flower blue eyes, and slightly turned up button nose on her girl next door kind of face. She's five foot nothing with 100 pounds of muscle in the build of a dancer, and is an expert in a few martial arts such as Aikido, a winner's certificate of which she has proudly framed on her office wall, and is the best marksman on the force.

In her career as a police officer she fought tooth and nail to earn the respect of the other members of the force, especially men, and even worked the hardest than any other previous leader of SI to make it the respected and professional department it is now and even lasted the longest than any other department head before her.

She was also the first to start calling in yours truly as a professional consultant for the more unusual cases SI is known to receive, and because of it she is often ridiculed but she doesn't let that stop her from doing her job of protecting the city.

However, despite all this, her office door still has her name written in marker on a piece of paper and the department or city officials have yet to make her a permanent name plate for her door.

Her office is also small, and I've often had to practically squeeze my way in because I'm so tall myself. It only has an office desk that is always cleanly and professionally kept, a computer that is currently shut off, chairs for seating on either side, and a few framed awards for winning in shooting contests or services to the city, as well as her Aikido certificate.

The clock had stopped ticking less than a minute after I walked in, so I have no idea how long Murphy had been reading or rereading my report to her, but unlike that unlucky clock I know the wheels are turning over and over in her head. I can practically hear them.

After what had to be the passing of a snail Indy 500, Murphy finally looked up at me with an unreadable expression but I could see a serious stone hardness in her eyes.

"Gargoyles," she stated, "That's what you have for me. Are you certain? Absolutely certain?"

"According to my sources, yes," I answered.

She tapped a well filed nail on her desk as she continued to stare hard at me, as though trying to work out what kind of con I was trying to play her. But I know she knows I am being every bit as honest with her as I always am, because I've been told that I'm a terrible liar.

"Then this must mean that what happened out in New York wasn't a complete hoax after all," she said.

"What are you talking about?" I asked with confusion, making her look at me surprised, like I should know something.

I do seem to be out of touch with current events lately.

"Really, Dresden," she groaned, "I'd think you of all people would know about the gargoyle sightings in New York several years ago, it was all over the news."

I only looked at her with confusion; what she was talking about sounded familiar but because I don't watch TV or didn't read the newspapers often until I became a private investigator, it seems I'll need a little help catching up.

"I think I remember hearing about something like that, but I don't remember much," I said, "Would you mind telling me about it?"

Murphy stared hard at me as she said, "When it first happened I'd thought you'd be the first to jump on it, seeing as how it was your area of expertise."

"When did it happen exactly?"

"1996, around Halloween, I think."

I gave a short laugh as I said, "I was still a man child in '96. I was apprenticing with Nick Christian at Ragged Angel Investigations to be a private investigator. So I didn't even have a license yet, Murph. But believe me, this definitely sounds like something I'd jump on, if it involved the supernatural. However, I wouldn't be surprised if it was all just a hoax for some screwed up publicity stunt."

"That's what I thought at the time, and if it was it was done awfully well, because I know some guys from forensics that gave me their expert opinion that the filming was genuine. And since meeting you, Dresden, I wouldn't be too surprised now if gargoyles were real. Anyway, I promised myself if any of those creatures came to make trouble in my town I would stop them at all costs to keep the public safe."

"And what if they're only trying to protect the public, like you?"

"Then they would only be vigilantes, and that's if they understand human law and jurisdiction. But right now, I know little about them, especially if they have human intelligence or are wild animals."

"If you read the report again, Murph, it says that they are intelligent. In fact, they're supposed to be a lot smarter than humans, so they may have us beat in the IQ department, considering the jackasses people elected into office these days."

Murphy gave me a look I knew all too well, a stone cold look that can break granite, and believe me that's a look any hardened criminal or troll living in the sewers would have any common sense to avoid at all times if they know what's good for them.

Plus, she just looks so darn cute when she gives me that look.

"Getting back on topic here, Dresden," she stated in a dead serious voice, "I don't think this is going to hold up with those city official 'jackasses' I currently work for. They're looking for a clean cut explanation SI can provide them with that will be placed on their desks during the work week so they can quietly bury it and add more of Marcone's pay offs into their already morbidly obese bureaucratic deep pockets. The key word here, Dresden, is Marcone. It was his financial firm building that was broken into, and one way or another he's already involved in this somehow. It's just a matter of how deep now and how much deeper he's going to get. Unless you can provide me with hard evidence that Chicago now has gargoyles, both of our hands are tied at the moment. You know I believe you, Harry, but Chicago officials won't. It's just lucky for now this isn't a high priority case, because the CPD is just filing it as the work of a business rival, or bold cat burglars pulling a prank. But it may become high priority soon, and I don't know when. Find out whatever you can, and get back to me soon. Very soon."

I know when Karen Murphy is talking business with me, and when she does I know it's time to take off the kid gloves and get my hands dirty. Often enough, when I get my hands dirty there's plenty of blood involved, and it's not always human. But when it is, even if I didn't cause that death, I'm still just as responsible and it's still on my hands.

Being a wizard doesn't excuse me from being responsible for the lives I affect of those around me, it makes me all the more responsible. Like Murphy being a police officer, as a wizard, if I don't do my job right and efficiently people could wind up deader than iron door nails, except as a wizard people could also face a fate far, far worse than death.

Often enough, death would appear to be a blessing compared to some of the supernatural crapbags I've had to face in my career and what they've done to innocent people.

"I'll get on it right now, Murph," I told her, "Give me 48 hours at the most to get something solid. If I don't, I'll use all the money I have to buy a hefty score of Mac's world famous ale just for you, and I'll even let you use my staff to wack my ass into the ground as long as you want."

"You're an idiot, Dresden," she said, and I swear I saw something like a smile grace her lips.

I gave Murphy a goofy smile of my own as I left her office which she just returned with a stare. The moment her office door closed behind me I could hear movement from inside of what I'm sure was Murphy trying to reach her clock and fix it.

Looking around the police bulletin I saw plain clothed and uniformed officers of the CPD's Special Investigations going about their regular routines, and though it does appear to be a normal mundane thing, I know many of these officers to be experienced street hardened veterans of the force. Unfortunately, SI isn't a department most police officers are eager to join. It mostly started out as a wasteland for burned out or unruly police officers who didn't want to play by the rules anymore or became more like a liability in their old departments before being transferred to SI. It was also not the most respected police department in Chicago, and has often been the butt of many in-jokes with public servants and officials.

It was started way back when as an out of the way sort of department for police to investigate the more 'unusual' cases in the city that normal law enforcement officials didn't want to deal with, and when it came to investigating something that sounded more like the crazed ranting of a paranormal enthusiast then an authoritative policeman, then it's no wonder.

Most leaders of SI also only lasted a few months, or less than a year before Karrin Murphy was given the job, and ever since then she worked her sweet little ass off tooth and nail to gain the respect of her male colleagues and make SI a more respected and professional police department that it is now.

I had first met Karrin Murphy when I was still apprenticing under Nick Christian at Ragged Angel Investigations, and she had been a uniformed beat officer. We both were doing a case about a runaway little girl from a wealthy family who had a run in with a nasty troll, but that's a story for another time.

I was making my way out of the police bulletin when a voice said to me, "Excuse me, are you Mr. Dresden?"

I turned and looked down, because I am pretty tall, to see a rather young looking beat officer walk up to me. He was about average height with a healthy figure, like he had once been a scrawny teenager but now filled out his uniform really well from just a few years of experience on the police force. His rounded out face had roughed out sharpened features that must have been of Latino ancestry with his olive tanned skin, raven black hair and dark umber brown eyes. The young officer looked at me with a mixer of determination and uncertainty, something I'm pretty much accustomed to because a lot of people believe I'm a charlatan, especially most members of SI, and I don't blame them. It's not easy to believe much in the supernatural anymore when life is scary enough.

"Sure am, officer, Harry Dresden, Wizard for Hire at your service," I said, "Something I can do for you? Does Lieutenant Murphy need me back in her office now?"

"No, sir," the young officer said, "Actually, I wanted to see if you're the real thing, that you really are a sorcerer as you claim and not a fraud because. . ."

"You're not the first to have doubts, kid," I said a little more sharply than maybe was necessary, because I get this sort of mocking shit all the time; people eyeing me funny trying to figure out what sort of scam I'm trying to pull by preying on the gullibility of SI. Believe me, often enough it gets real old real fast.

"It's not like that, sir," he said with a hard assertiveness that surprised me a little, "If Lieutenant Murphy trusts you then I'm inclined to believe her, because she's my leader and she reminds me a lot of another police woman who I used to work with who coached me about being a cop."

With a raised eyebrow I asked him, "What's your name, kid? I've worked with SI a long time and I'm sure I've never seen you before."

"Officer Randall Montoya," he said, "I transferred from New York a couple of months ago."

I don't know why, but something about his mention of being from New York struck me funny. Having just talked about it with Murphy not five minutes ago, it can't just be some weird coincidence.

"If you really are a private investigator as well as a sorcerer. . ." he continued.

"Wizard," I corrected him.

"Sorry, *wizard*, as you say, I have some good friends who are considering hiring you, but they are extremely private and need to know you can be trusted."

"When it comes to any client, I always keep my mouth shut," I said with confidence.

Well, that's not always true. My mouth's gotten me into some pretty nasty situations before, and sometimes I don't know when to shut up. I really hate bullies, especially the preternatural kind, and I say it to their faces so badly it just seemed to make them madder.

So, I like to see being a smart ass as both a blessing and a curse, it just depends on the moment.

"Good," he said, "Because what I need to come to you for is going to be hard for both of us, as you can see, Mr. Dresden. My friends also just moved to Chicago, but their home was broken into and nearly robbed by a street gang last night."

"Isn't this something one of the other departments could help you with, Officer Montoya?"

"It may sound like it, but no. There was something very weird about this particular street gang, something I'm sure is your area of expertise. They called themselves the Streetwolves, and they even looked really weird."

My spine must be turning yellow, because an unpleasant tingling ran down my back at the mention of the Streetwolves. Let's just say I have a history with them, and it's something I don't want to talk about.

"You have my attention, kid. What can you tell me about them?"

"Not here, not now," he said a bit nervously, "I know you're working on another case for Lieutenant Murphy and I don't want to overwhelm you, Mr. Dresden. So you just finish this case first and I'll let you know if my friends are willing to officially hire you for the job. I promise they can pay you well."

My suspicions about this kid grew, making one of my eyebrows raise up a bit I'm sure. Could this kid in some way have already fallen in with Marcone and not be aware of it? It would not surprise me too much if that's what he means by his friends 'can pay me well.' Then again, it may just mean they have a lot of money they're willing to invest in a quirky investigator.

But I can't allow myself to jump to any conclusions until I have all of the facts. Otherwise what kind of private investigator would I be?

I reached into a pocket in my rather long duster jacket to hand him one of my business cards as I told him, "Here's my office address, number, and message service. Drop by any time and tell me what you can, kid."

"Thanks, Mr. Dresden, and call me Randy, all my friends do."

"Okay, Randy, just give a call if there's anything else you can tell me if you think it's important."

"I will, Mr. Dresden, thank you for your time."

I watched the boy police officer make his way back into the bulletin for a second before making my own way out onto the street from the Chicago Police Station.

The building the Special Investigations department is headquartered in is an old brown building only a few stories tall and sits like an old but toughened bull dog on constant guard, even being overshadowed by the taller newer buildings surrounding it and having greatly being worn away with age and being ruined in a few places by ugly graffiti. But like many of the cops who work inside it, despite changing times it means to stay where it is and remind people that even an old tough dog is always ready to do its duty.

Speaking of old tough dogs, having taken a taxi to the station I have to pick up my trusty Blue Beetle from the mechanic's. It's just a 1960s Voks wagon a lot like the one from those cute Disney movies, only it's blue and most often runs eight days out of nine. People may say it's a piece of junk and I should get a new car, but there are reasons why I drive it. Aside from being mine, as a wizard I don't do well around technology for very long, and anything more advanced than something invented after the '50s I can make go haywire just by being too close to it if I don't consciously keep my magic in check. That takes a lot of discipline, and believe me sometimes I occasionally have a problem practicing discipline when it can be so tempting to fling bad ass magic everywhere.

Although on a side note, I have heard about rare occasions when magic and technology are combined to work together in perfect harmony, but having never seen something like that in my time I'm skeptical about that and think that you'd have to be either pretty brilliant and disciplined to do something like that, or extremely arrogant and stupid to even try just from overconfidence in personal abilities.

But who knows, stranger things have happened, and I have seen some very strange things.

As I got at least a couple of blocks from the station to easily signal a taxi, instead a sleek black limo pulled up rapidly right in front of me and two very large but well dressed goons got out and stood menacingly in front of me. One of them I recognized well with shaved red hair and a squinty expression with his thick beetle brow and caveman features and linebacker build.

"Mr. Marcone wants to speak with you," he rumbled in a tone that won't allow argument, and believe me when Hendricks, or Cujo as I like to call him, tells you to do something he means it.

But I really don't have time to humor him with his empty thuggish threats. He may have five times the muscle than I ever will, but I've faced off against way bigger and scarier.

The other goon opened the back door of the stretch limo as Hendricks cracked his thick knuckles and said, "You will speak to Mr. Marcone."

"Now Mr. Hendricks," said a voice from inside the limo, a voice I know all too well, "No need for unnecessary threats, I'm sure Mr. Dresden is well aware of the situation. Let's talk, Mr. Dresden, in private and see if we can come to an understanding deal."


End file.
